Nighttime Flowers, Evening Roses
by Ferric
Summary: Set during The Two Thrones the Prince seeks out Farah before they attempt to fight the vizier. The Dark Prince has ideas of its own... -Warning- This rated M for a reason. First chapter is from the Prince's point of view, second chapter is from Farah's, third is from the Dark Prince's.
1. I come to you

_Nighttime flowers  
Evening roses  
Bless this garden that never closes_

-Lyrics from 'Tenderloin' by Allen Lanier

Sneaking through the streets like a common thief and taking to the rooftops when blockades and debris rendered them impassible the Prince made his way through the city. Babylon, the home he had abandoned years ago was so achingly familiar and yet so alien that it was hard for him to keep his mind on the here and now. His mental passenger, for he refused to think of it as a part of him despite what it may have claimed, remained silent to better allow him to listen for the sounds of approaching foes and the distant noise of the struggle being waged all around him. This part of the city was abandoned, gutted by fire and relatively safe, yet he could not afford to let his guard down. The vizier's monstrous soldiers still patrolled it, searching for survivors who might organize to fight the invaders.

He had chosen this path not because it was the swiftest way to where he wanted to be, but because it was the most obvious rout to the palace. That was where Farah had said that she was going when they last met and he hoped to intercept her before she arrived. What exactly he hoped to accomplish he had yet to figure out, but he felt the need to say something before they went to face the vizier. After all he had been through the thought of losing her again after so recently rediscovering her was a constant concern.

The by now familiar wind-through-dry-grass hiss started in the back of his mind, accompanied by an almost subliminal sensation of pressure behind his eyes let him know that it was stirring, preparing to say something unhelpful no doubt. Not wanting to invite trouble he chose to ignore it, when it wanted to speak it would, trying to start a conversation would do him no good.

His left arm itched where the bladed chain was embedded in it. The injury itself was starting to heal, if what was happening could be thought of as healing. Where the taint of the Sands had spread rough coal black flesh met smoothly with the metal. Further up, where there was still normal, human skin the bleeding had stopped and the injury had scabbed over, bright flecks of Sand sparkling amidst the dried blood. He supposed that he should be thankful that no mundane infections had set in, but when he pressed his thumb against the lowest segment of the chain and it remained immobile, thoroughly fused to his body as though a part of him, it was impossible not to feel revulsion.

"You worry too much," for once its voice was soothing rather than scornful, "You're letting distractions get in your way."

"Would you rather things be as they were before?" he responded, too ready to argue with it to concede that it may have had a point.

A long silence followed, during which he was certain that he could actually feel it thinking, then the hissing and pressure faded. It had gone back to wherever it was when it chose not to speak and he found his thoughts wandering to new worries. Where did it go when it was silent? Was it lurking in the dark corners of his mind, occupied with its own dark thoughts or was it enviously watching the world through his eyes? Could it read his thoughts while he remained unaware of the workings of its mind?

"While I'll admit that I was more fond of you when you had a sense of purpose and would take action without worrying over every little thing, no, I don't miss the past as you do. To the contrary," it gave a bitter little laugh, "I'd much rather you moved on rather than mooning over what might have been."

It had snuck up on him out of nowhere and he found himself on the defensive, as often happened with it, "You're mad because I'm looking for Farah."

"Hah!" it snorted, "That's one way of looking at it, but it's not her that I'm mad at, it's you. The moment you saw her you lost all conviction. You've idealized her to the point where you can't even think of her as a woman. When she's around you go from being a Prince out to reclaim his right to rule the mightiest empire on earth to acting like some fool boy who has just discovered his manhood and doesn't know what to do with it."

"I do not –"

"No," it cut him off, "You do and you do it all wrong. Let's say you found her right now, what would you do? What can you do?"

It was his turn to fall silent. There was so much that he wanted to tell her, but what could actually say? He remembered her fondly, while she saw him as a stranger and at best tolerated his help with a sort of exasperated patience.

"You see," it laughed, "You have no clue what you're doing. When I tell you to forget about her I mean that you should stop looking to a past that never was as far as she's concerned and try to focus on what she is. Farah is a woman, nothing more and nothing less."

When it was right it was right, not that he would admit that to it, not that it seemed bothered in the least by his silence. It went right on talking, gleefully lecturing him as he made his way through the city streets.

"You keep telling yourself that once you kill the vizier it will all be over, everything will be set right and the world will be good again. Well I have a secret for you Prince, it won't. Things will never be as they were and what you remember is a lie you've told yourself so many times that you believe it. Think back to the circumstances under which you first met Farah and try telling me that those were good times. She was a captive, a prize of war and you were part of the conquering army, triumphant and ready to enjoy all your conquest had earned you to the fullest. You took everything from her Prince, and then you fell in love with her. Now tell me that everything was right then, that you were pure and blameless. Oh you mourn for the halcyon days that never were, what a shame. I would cry for your foolish naïveté if I was able," its voice turned harsh, "Stop deluding yourself and focus on what matters."

"And what matters?" he snapped back, weary of its pretentiousness.

"Killing the vizier and reclaiming your kingdom," it said flatly, "That should be the beginning and ending of your goal. Everything else that happens will be a result of your success or failure at one or the other."

"That's what I'm trying to do,' he growled back at it, taking to the rooftops when a glimpse of movement in an open window caught his attention.

"No Prince, you lie," it said with an air of long suffering patience, "You've added something to that, the notion that things must go back to normal between the first and the second. It's foolish to even try arguing with you so I'll leave you with this to think about: What if it doesn't work that way? I'll be willing to give you the benefit of the doubt and say that everything goes perfectly up until the moment you slay the vizier, but what then? Your city is still in ruins, there's an invading army to contend with and what if the Sands are still there? What if I don't go away? How far back will you have to turn back time to fix that and will you be able to do it if you find Farah tonight? Let's say that you're right and she's in that building up ahead and you go in there and talk to her and win her over. Will you be ready to lose her again to set everything back to what you think of as right? She's left you conflicted, torn, unable to make any decision right or wrong out of fear of consequences that only matter to you. You tell yourself that your goal is to do the right thing, but you can't do it because you don't even know what's right to begin with. No matter what you do Prince, you'll lose."

Having spoken its mind it fell back into silence.

As much as he hated it for lecturing him, he hated it more for being right. He had built his whole plan around a goal that could very easily prove to be impossible and exactly as it had said, he began to worry about that possibility. When survival had been his only goal he had never put himself though so much agonizing over all the things that could happen in the near future. Well, even if he had no desire to follow its advice, now was as good a time as any to start. He would find Farah, talk with her and whatever would happen next would happen.

Settling down in the shadows of an overhang he watched for another glimpse of movement. Before he went ahead and jumped to the next rooftop he wanted to be sure that it was her and not some other survivor hiding from the vizier's monsters. In his current condition taking one of his subjects by surprise could prove dangerous since in the fading light the glow of the Sands emanating from his left arm was increasingly noticeable, especially given how far it had spread. By now it reached well past his elbow and there were places beneath unchanged skin where he thought he would see something shimmering, marking where glowing lesions would soon open.

Concealing his infected arm as best as he was able he waited, his patience eventually rewarded by further movement from inside the building. This time a distinctly female silhouette was revealed, the proportions and attire hinting that it was Farah, especially since as far as he could tell she was alone. No other woman could manage on her own during times like these, or so he told himself. Yet despite his certainty he hesitated, waiting as the shadows deepened before finally dashing from his hiding place and leaping to the next building, the one where Farah waited.

Despite his earlier intentions he found himself hesitating yet again, simply clinging to the window ledge and looking in on her as she slept. What would he say? How could he hope to explain himself? If things went poorly perhaps it was better to savor the moment for a time, memorize every line and curve of her form in case afterwards they parted company for good.

Even in sleep she was not truly at peace, her brow furrowed in a frown and she tossed and turned, her hands clenching and unclenching, grasping for her bow, which lay within easy reach. How he longed to brush back the strand of hair that fell in front of her face, to take her hands in his, to hold her until her restless tossing and turning faded into deep, restful sleep.

Memories of that single night they had together sprang unbidden to his mind and he raged at the unfairness of it all. What he would give for there to be a chance at another night like that.

It was the thought of that night in Azad that finally got him to act. Perhaps he could think of a way to tell Farah what had happened, to convince her that it was real…


	2. By some abuse and some heart

Farah had paused to rest, intending it to be for only a short time, but exhaustion had taken its toll and she had fallen asleep. Over the months since the vizier's treachery and her vow of revenge she had been pushing herself too hard. A moment's pause to rest her eyes before continuing on to meet up with her most unusual companion had turned into a sleep so deep and dreamless that sit was as close to death as one could be while still living. She before she fell asleep her thoughts had been of him, the so-called prince. As a princess she had met enough princes to know one when she saw one and whatever the strange Sand cursed man was, he was not a prince. A prince of thieves maybe, or an outlaw king, but not true royalty. It went to show how far she had fallen to find herself fighting alongside such a man. The way he looked at her was unnerving, she had seen it in the eyes of many men in the past, though if she was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, it seemed that he was unaware of it.

Something brushing against her face caused her to wake up with a gasp. Sleep gone in an instant she tensed, taking in the room, searching for threats, not that she had far to look. He was crouched over her, caressing her face and grinning wickedly, the look of dark longing shining in his eyes like fire.

"Farah, do you remember me?"

To think she had been starting to trust him, to believe that he was telling the truth, only to discover that she had been justified in believing the worst about him all along.

Up close she could see that his eyes were nothing more than bright pits, burning with the hungry light of the Sands. The glow poured from the fissures running across his face and body as they consumed him from the inside, in a blinding instant the transformation flowed over him.

If not for the fact that she had already seen him reveal his true nature in this manner before she would have been paralyzed with fear. As it was, she was filled with revulsion that she had begun to trust him despite all of the signs that there was something fundamentally wrong with him. From the start it had been clear that he had been deceiving her, she simply had yet to figure out his motivations. How could she have been so foolish? Little as she wanted to admit it, she knew the answer. She had been desperate for an ally and he had been charming in his odd way. How he often seemed to play the part of the fool had caused her to lower her guard, a cunning trick she had thought beyond him. Well, she was in good company amongst those fooled by empty words and vague promises.

All these thoughts raced through her mind in the time it had taken for the taint of the Sands to overtake him. One moment he had been the eccentric warrior she had been foolish enough to trust, the next he was the coal skinned abomination she had previously seen only from a distance.

Naturally as breathing she reached her bow and nocked an arrow, prepared to defend herself from the monster she had willed herself to mistake for a man.

He rolled his shoulders as though limbering up in preparation for great physical exertion, a small smile playing on his lips.

The movement drew her eyes to his face, though her bow remained steady, the arrow aimed at his heart. It took a great deal to kill such monsters, but she had found herself quite adept at it. If the first shot failed to end him she was confident that she could loose a second before he even felt the pain of the first.

All the warning she got was that little shrug and a glint of light off the chain of blades embedded in his left arm. Having seen how he used those blades she loosed her arrow. Her aim was true, her hands never shook despite her racing thoughts and the arrow shattered as the bladed chain lashed though the air. There had been a blur of movement, smoke on the wind, and she tried to follow it to no avail as he seemed to blink out of existence. What manner of monster was he that he could move so inhumanly fast?

The next thing she knew there was something at her throat and it felt as though she had been thrown back against a wall. In the same instant her bow was wrenched from her grip. A blast of furnace hot air ruffled her hair and she understood. Somehow he had gotten behind her and wrapped his right arm around her neck. It had to be his right arm, for the blades in his left would have sliced her to ribbons. It was her first hint that his intent was not to kill her.

"You were never far from my thoughts you know," he chuckled gently as she struggled in his grip, "The dream of your touch sustained me when I had nothing. Even with the Empress it was your face I saw when I closed my eyes."

His words were meaningless poison. Until being brought to Babylon she had never met him, yet when they first met he had known her name, known who she was. Even as she fought against him she turned these details over in her mind, trying to make some sense of it all.

Still laughing softly her jerked her upwards so that her feet left the floor. He held her there for a moment, keeping her in place while she struggled to breathe. The world around her began to dull as darkness crept in on the edges of her vision. Her struggles grew weaker and he slowly adjusted his hold on her, keeping his arm across her throat, as he carefully guided her down to the floor so that she was laying facedown beneath him. Her vision faded to a pair of bright pinpoints in rolling darkness, the whole world reduced to his weight above and the rough floor below.

She could feel him moving, leaning down to whisper, "You don't know how long I've been waiting for this. You could never know."

Cold air rushed into her lungs when he finally loosened his grip, relief bringing with it awareness of how helpless she was. He had taken advantage of her brief blackout to bring a knee up to the small of her back, effectively pinning her ,even without the hand he had pressing down against the side of her head.

She struggled to keep from screaming, not wanting to give him the satisfaction that he would surely get from any sign of fear she let him see. The way he was holding her left her unable to look at him, a mercy really considering what she was sure she would have seen.

"What do you want?" she hissed, already expecting the worst.

Silence was his only response, that and a slight shift in his weight. A moment later and she felt the roughness of his fingers brushing against the back of her thigh, working their way up under her dress and in between her legs. His movements were slow, gentle even, but no less disgusting for it. She could feel him probing, examining before he drew his hand back with a noise of disdain.

Perhaps he would lose interest now that he had discovered that he was not the first to conceive of forcing such attentions on her. The Vizier had been unable to resist after disposing of her father and taking her captive.

"Who was he?" he ground the heel of his hand down against the side of her head, his voice dark with rage, "Did you love him?"

"No!"

The vehemence of her cry, or perhaps the horrified disgust in her tone, must have shocked him, for he lifted his hand slightly.

"Who was it?" he readjusted his grip, working his fingers into her hair to better hold her.

"The Vizier," the words escaped her before she could help herself. Maybe she hoped to distract him with talk, for he did seem to hate the Vizier beyond all reason, or perhaps she wanted someone to know what had happened to her during her time as a captive, even if the one she was telling was a monster about to kill her.

His grip tightened and she cried out. Ignoring her cry and struggles, he slid his knee off of her and rolled her over, lifting her by the hair just enough to slam her back to the floor, knocking the wind out of her in the process.

"Then I have one more reason to kill him," his tone was flat, unreadable. Without intending to she looked up and saw him crouched over her For a moment their eyes locked and she saw…nothing. The whirling glow in his eyes showed no trace of emotion or even humanity, his face may as well have been a cracked stone mask, exquisitely carved, but lacking any life or soul.

He blinked first and the moment passed. Expression returned slowly, a cruel smile forming at the corners of his mouth.

Now was her chance, his grip on her was the weakest it had been and her hands were free. More than that, she could see the dagger, the source of all her woes, at his hip. If she could grab it she could plunge it into his throat. Surely its power would be enough to destroy him. Focused as he was on what he intended to do he failed to notice her slow movements.

With the same impossible speed he had shown earlier he grabbed her wrist in a crushing grip. His free hand held the dagger protectively against his chest.

"Hah! You nearly had me there," he looked at her, eyes wide with genuine amusement, "Would you have killed me then?"

How had he known? She had hardly moved at all unless… The vizier had claimed that the dagger had spoken to him, given him visions and guided him onwards in his mad quest for immortality. Could all of that have been true? Was it now serving to warn her tormentor, allowing him to act before he had any right to know what was about to happen?

"I asked you a question," he smirked, bringing the point of the dagger to her throat, "If I gave you this dagger would you kill me?"

"Yes! Yes damn you!" she spat in his face. Perhaps it was not the wisest thing to do given her situation, but she decided that she would rather die than be violated by such a monster. If she thought escape to be possible she would have struggled, but even if she screamed there was no one near to hear it and fighting him would pointless. Trying would only serve to amuse him so she might as well try goading him into killing her.

"Really," his tone was thoughtful, "Even if –

The dagger was still at her throat, giving her her chance. Before he could react she brought her free hand up and grabbed his, slamming the dagger forward. The cold blade parted flesh like water, so swiftly that there was no pain, just a rush of warmth and lightheadedness that made her feel giddy. This was death, this was…

The world spun before her eyes, the glow of her tormentor leaving afterimages dancing through the air as the warmth retreated, as did the coldness of the blade. Her shock was so great that her attempt to hit the blade into her throat faltered, not that it mattered, for this time he was ready for her and even if she had hit it as hard as she had the first time the blade never would have moved an inch.

Understanding came to her too late as he sheathed the dagger and maneuvered so that he was holding both her wrists in his left hand. Somehow he had been using the dagger to control the flow of time, a trick the vizier had never managed as far as she knew. How had he unlocked the dagger's secrets so swiftly after stealing it when the vizier had obsessed over it for years?

"Your bravery is admirable, as is your determination," he ran his free hand along the side of her face, "Though your stubbornness is somewhat less endearing."

She closed her eyes so that he would not see the fear in them. Why was he so determined to drag things out when they both knew what was going to happen? At least the vizier had the decency to do what he had wanted and then leave her.

Though his touch was gentle, the contact was loathsome, the feeling of his skin against hers made it terrifyingly apparent that there was nothing human about him. His skin was rough and dry, but more than that, there was a feverish warmth to it. Then the touch was gone, leaving her to imagine what he might be doing.

"I'm not going to kill you, you know," his voice was full of malevolent glee, daring her to do or say something further to try and escape the inevitable.

She nearly opened her eyes when he spoke, but resisted, whatever measure of satisfaction she could deny him she would. Small victories were all she had for now.

A slight shift was all it took, trying not to think of what he was getting ready to do she attempted to twist her hands free and slip from beneath him.

This time there was no supernatural anticipation of her actions, simply sheer brute force. She managed to wrench her hands free of his grip and all he did was straighten up to let her pound her fists against his chest. For all the good it did she may as well have been beating her hands against the floor and he gave about as much response as the floor would have. No, that was untrue, he did respond, he laughed.

Moving with fluid grace he tore away her skirt. As the cloth ripped she managed to struggle out from under him only for him to grab her legs and dig his fingers into her soft flesh hard enough to make her scream. He pulled her back under him and pressed down against her, leaning in as though he intended to kiss her on the lips. In case that was his plan she bared her teeth at him

"I'm going to enjoy this," his breath was like a burst of air out of a furnace in her face, hot and dry, smelling of sun warmed sand, hot ash and the dust of years accumulating in forgotten places. Inside and out he was a monster.

With noting left for her to do she struggled with all her might and screamed as loudly as she could, not for help of course, for she knew better to think that anyone in the war torn city would come to her aid. It was simply that she had to scream, to resist in any and every way she could, otherwise how would she live with herself afterward, if she even survived what he was going to do?

Continuing to roughly pull and shove, he forced her body up against him. His weight above her was as unyielding as the stone floor beneath her, if not for the fact that he was moving, pushing her into position so he could get what he wanted, it would have been as though she was being crushed between two stone slabs. He nuzzled her neck and kissed her, muttering mixed promises of love and violence.

Clawing and pounding at his back only succeeded in leaving her hands raw.

His lips brushed against her cheek, rough and burning, each exhalation scorching her skin before he finally finished with his mockery of tender passion and began his efforts in earnest.

Her previous attempts at escape were nothing compared to what she managed when he put his hands on her thighs in an attempt to force her to yield to him. She managed to slip one leg up and landed several good kicks on his chest and stomach, one of them hitting hard enough to make him let out a hiss of pain. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him raise his hand as though to strike her, but the blow never came. Instead his clenched fist impacted the floor inches from her head. The stone cracked under the force of the blow.

"I'm trying not to hurt you," he hissed, the threat clear and shock more than anything else made her freeze.

When he lifted his hand she saw that he had split his knuckles when he hit the floor. Sand swirled lazily around his hand as glowing grit and something too dark to be blood pattered down on the floor. He flicked his injured hand, scattering Sand and wet grit across the room. A single speck landed on her cheek, still hot from being a part of him.

He took advantage of her momentary stillness to force her legs apart.

The agony of what followed was indescribable.

It was though she had been impaled by a burning brand, filling her with pain to the point where she was sure that it would tear her apart if it lasted much longer. Each thrust and small movement he made brought with it a fresh stab of molten agony. Pulling her top aside he groped her, kneading her breasts, his rough touch rubbing them raw.

He held her against him, his weight crushing her, yet through it all she was keenly aware that he kept his left arm as far from her as possible. Everything he did caused her pain as much because of what he was as what he was doing, yet at the same time he was clearly taking care not to do any further damage. It was a mystery as much as everything else about him, one she had no desire to solve, yet it was something for her mind to focus on beyond the pain and indignity.

All the while he was speaking, murmuring about a well and a palace, monsters and hiding, time they had spent together that had never happened. Was it a story, the ramblings of a madman, a confession? Since her father's journey to the Island of Time she had seen impossible things, witnessed first hand things that made no sense. Moments ago she had watched time flow in reverse, if only for an instant, bringing her back from death. Could this so-called prince have been something similar albeit on a much larger scale? He knew her name, where she came from, who she was, was it because of some shared past that the Sands had erased. Was he truly the prince of this land, driven to madness by the curse that the vizier had unleashed upon the world?

"Stop! You don't have to…" she had thought herself past any attempt at bargaining, yet she was trying again now as she had with the vizier.

"You're wrong," he hissed at her, never once breaking rhythm, "This may be my only chance. I've lost you twice before. One thing I've learned from all I've endured, you must take what you want when there's a chance. Yesterday is dead and tomorrow is a lie."

What he endured? He knew nothing of enduring. She wanted to scream at him for his presumptions, but the pain had robbed her of her voice.

Though on some level she knew that he was making no effort to draw out the length of the ordeal, it dragged on and on until she was too weak to keep fighting. Her whole world had been reduced to the floor, his weight crushing down on her and the pain that filled her with no end in sight. Too exhausted both mentally and physically she shut her eyes and willed herself to hold onto what reason and sanity she could. Revenge would work if nothing else. Already having vowed vengeance against the vizier it would be easy enough to add another monster to the list.

"Come on," he hissed through clenched teeth, "I know you've got more in you than that."

He let out a little snort, possibly of disappointment when that failed to goad her into further protests or action, and redoubled his efforts. His breathing grew ragged, animalistic grunts perfectly matching the beast that he was. To do be able to do such a thing to her had to be absolute proof that he was not truly human which would make it easier when the time came for her to kill him.

Suddenly he tensed, holding onto her so tight that the air was forced from her lungs and she learned of a whole new level of pain. Liquid agony filled her, settling like a rock somewhere deep inside her.

Then he was done, blood and something else flowed from her as he rose to his feet and began to get dressed. Even if she could have trusted her legs to support her, there was no reason for her to stand. She could imagine attacking him all she wanted, but that would have to wait. Up close the advantage was his, but there would come a time. As he had snuck up on her, there would come a time when he slept, then she would have her chance. Until then she would have to be patient.

She watched him until she could no longer endure the sight of him. Exhaustion was creeping back, worse for all that she had been through and she closed her eyes.

Just as she thought it was all over and he was walking away she heard him stop and come close again. She started shaking uncontrollably when she heard him kneel down next to her. What was there left for him to do?

He ran his fingers through her hair and kissed her with impossible tenderness considering what he had just finished doing.

"It's said that we always hurt the ones we love," he whispered softly before planting a feather light kiss on her forehead, "And you should know, I do love you."

Having said his piece he left her alone, laying in the aftermath.


	3. Let's watch it fall apart

While the Prince had watched and waited and fretted it bided its time, seeking what little openings it could find. It crept into his thoughts, giving him the courage to act without revealing itself and what it was capable of. There would only be one chance It knew that once it tried the Prince would forever be on guard against it, so it had to be certain that by the time he realized what was happening it would be too late. If it was successful it would put an end to the Prince's indecision for good, bring back that self-righteous rage which it loved so much and fill him with rage. That the anger would be directed at it mattered little, for it was confident that over time it could redirect those emotions outward, or if necessary, further inward until it consumed him entirely.

It watched through the Prince's eyes, admiring Farah and allowing its own thoughts to subtly intrude, not enough that he would notice, but enough to plant the seed of an idea and in that seed the beginning of its plan took hold.

By the time the Prince had gathered the courage to climb in through the window it was certain of its influence. The Prince thought he was the one in control, its actions lining up so well with his intent that when the balance tipped for the first, and likely last time, he never suspected a thing.

As he had been longing to do, the Prince knelt down besides Farah and brushed those stray strands of hair away from her face, smiling as she stirred at the touch. The Prince may have fooled himself into thinking that he was content to watch, but it knew better. It was a facet of the Prince after all, and if the thought had never been there to begin with it never would have known the desire to act upon it.

"Farah, do you remember me?" he whispered softly, and only then did the Prince realize that the situation was no longer in his hands, had never been from the moment he chose to continue his pursuit of Farah. The words had been his, but the voice had belonged to it.

"What have you done?" the Prince raged silently, reduced to nothing more than a disembodied voice, a thing of no consequence, while it became an entity unto itself, their places reversed. It, no he, smiled for the first time, savoring the sensations that came with being as the power of the Sands consumed them.

That had not been part of the plan, not when a human body was so much better suited for his original intent. No sense in wasting time with regrets though, what he could not win through guile he could take by force.

He had to admire the pure, reflexive action with which Farah shoved away from him, grabbing her bow and arrows and taking aim. Whatever scared, lost royal she had been during the time in Azad was meaningless, the girl from memories that had never been was replaced by the fierce and determined little warrior before him. She was far too rare a prize for the Prince to appreciate, lost as he had become in all his might-have-beens. Farah would kill them without a moment's hesitation and, from the look in her eyes, she would feel no remorse after having done the deed. In that instant he wanted her more than he had ever wanted anything, truly proof that he was very much a part of the Prince.

He let his hand brush against the handle of the Dagger and time slowed to a crawl. Farah loosed her arrow and it drifted though the air towards him. A lazy flick of his wrist and the bladed chain he wielded as though it was an extension of his arm flicked through the air and knocked the arrow away. The splintered pieces tumbled through the air as he dashed to the side and came up behind Farah, her hair drifted around her head like a cloud as she tried to turn her head and see where he had gone to.

He snatched the bow from her hands and threw it across the room, then wrapped his arm around her neck, careful to use his right as he had no desire to slit Farah's throat.

"Don't you dare hurt her!" the Prince screamed in his mind and he had to struggle to keep from laughing. It should have been obvious from his actions that he was making an effort to do no more harm than was necessary.

Oh, to have a physical form. Everything was new and wonderful for it, the feeling of Farah's pointless struggles, the sound of her voice, the smell of her hair. Best of all it was something unique to him, not part of a faded memory or vicarious sensation experienced through the Prince's actions. The Prince had never done this, never would have dared, so it stood to reason that he might as well admit to something that the Prince never would have done on his own.

"You were never far from my thoughts you know," he whispered to her, savoring the Prince's gasp of shock as much as the way Farah tensed when he spoke, "The dream of your touch sustained me when I had nothing. Even with the Empress it was your face I saw when I closed my eyes."

"How did you? That was…you were never," the Prince stammered, clearly shocked to hear his own secret thoughts expressed. After this night was over they were certain to have some interesting conversations as the Prince went through all manner of contortions of logic to continue denying that they were one and the same.

He tightened his hold on Farah's neck and lifted her off the floor, enjoying his own strength and the power he had over her while the Prince ranted meaningless threats. The fool refused to understand the nature of their relationship, that he was everything that had been repressed, anger as well as truth, longing as well as desire. The Prince believed that he hated Farah when in reality it was nothing more than his own resentment at her for not remembering him thrown back at him. Well, after tonight it would change, she would remember this no matter how hard she tried to forget.

Her struggles weakened as loss of air took its toll and he oh so carefully lowered her to the floor. She was so beautiful, so delicate that he had to remind himself that one wrong move and she would break free and rush to regain her weapons, forcing him to catch her all over again. Fun as that would have been, he was in no mood for such playing, especially not with the Prince's outraged voice shouting in his mind.

"What are you doing?" the Prince demanded, in such willful denial that he missed the obvious, "What good will this do you?"

"You don't know how long I've been waiting for this. You could never know," he spoke as much to the Prince as to Farah as he guided the half conscious woman down so that she lay face down on the floor. To keep her in place he pinned her down by placing his knee at the small of her back and pressed his hand down on the side of her head to hopefully keep her from struggling too much. As much as he knew of fighting and killing, holding someone down without doing harm was all guess work, especially when he wanted to be able to admire them in the process.

He could feel her tense beneath him, see the way her muscles strained as she tested his strength and found him immovable.

"What do you want?" her words came out in an angry hiss, the outrage in her tone speaking volumes. She knew the answer to that question, even as the Prince tried to pretend that such thoughts were beyond him.

Seeing no sense in answering a question that they already knew the answer to he simply smiled and ran a hand along the soft, smooth flesh of her leg. Her skin was cool to the touch, clammy even, but he was certain that a little further on he would find warmth. His fingers played along her thigh, up farther and farther, sliding deftly beneath her skirt and between her legs where he paused. There was something wrong, terribly wrong. In his Sand wrought form he felt no delicious heat emanating from her, just a cool dampness which made him ache for a proper, human body. Inhuman strength and speed were fine when fighting, but to be robbed of the simple delights that came with what he intended to do was unpleasant to say the least and for a moment he contemplated letting her go. He would have too, if not for the realization of what else was wrong.

The Prince's outraged shock at the discovery perfectly mirrored his own, though really, why was it such a shock? It had been seven years since that night and she was a princess and a gorgeous woman. Time had not stood still during those years apart, even if she had remained unchanging in his memory, nor had he denied himself during that time. It was expected, but it still filled him with outrage. At least the discovery had shocked the Prince into silence.

"Who was he?" he growled, grinding the heel of his hand down against the side of her head, "Did you love him?"

"No!" the disgust and conviction in her cry gave him pause. Of course, an arranged, loveless marriage, that was the way of the world after all. Odds were that she had been through similar at the hands of whoever she had been given to. She would have experience, know what to expect, so maybe the situation could still be salvaged. He relaxed his grip on her slightly, working his fingers through her hair to maintain his hold without pressing down on her so hard.

"Who was it?" Morbid curiosity combined with the Prince's desperate hope to find some way to cling to the memory of their night together drove him to ask. Though thinking it over the Prince very well may have been right to hope, for she certainly hadn't acted like she expected someone to come to her rescue. If this other was dead there was still a chance…

"The vizier," she spoke as though the title was the vilest of oaths.

It made sense. She had been the vizier's captive for an unknown length of time and if he had been in the vizier's position he would have done the same, was going to do the same in fact. He rolled her over to get a better look at her before speaking, poorly repressed rage making him treat her more roughly than he intended.

"Then I have one more reason to kill him," the statement was as much his as the Prince's for the vizier truly had stolen everything from them. This was simply a reason to make him suffer first.

Farah shifted slightly beneath him and he looked down at her. He could see her eyes, wide and full of anger. Fear was absent, but there was something there, something that he could not read. She was searching for something, but what?

In the back of his mind the Prince was silent, treating the revelation as though it were a betrayal. Even though he knew not to blame Farah, that his outrage was directed purely at the vizier, the damage had been done and could not be undone. Poor Prince, so quick to idealize Farah, never thinking that the world would move on.

A certain freedom came with that thought and he smiled bitterly. What had been was ruined, the memory forever sullied and there was no further damage he could do to it. He adjusted his grip on her, freeing one hand to that he might begin in earnest.

Focused as he was on her face he never noticed her hands moving until he felt the Dagger of Time being jerked free of its sheath as his hip. Reflexively he smacked her hand away, the bladed chain in his left arm cutting her in the process.

She screamed and thrashed, blood flowing freely, "If you don't kill me first I'll kill you! You'll have to sleep sometime and I'll find you!"

Her blood spattered across his face and chest, thick and cold.

Drawing back slightly he used the power of the Dagger to rewind time to the instant before she grabbed it, carefully pulling her hand away before he accidentally injured her.

Such determination, such threats, not at all what one would expect of a princess! The hatred in her eyes as she glared at him made him laugh despite himself.

"Hah! You nearly had me there," he looked at her, truly seeing her for the first time, "Would you have killed me then?"

Such behavior from her went against what the Prince had imagined and it thrilled him. Try as the Prince may to deny it, everyone had such potential in them, even his idealized little Farah. Such a wonderful illusion to shatter, he had to press on so that the Prince might learn and accept such things in himself.

"She only says that because of what you're doing," the Prince said hurriedly, desperate to justify as he brought the tip of the Dagger to her throat.

Ignoring the nagging voice he pressed on, "I asked you a question. If I gave you this Dagger would you kill me?"

"Yes! Yes damn you!"

Then she spat in his face.

Oh this was too good. As the cold spittle dripped down his face he heard the Prince gasp as though burned. It must have hurt him so to finally see Farah as human, full of emotions and thoughts as deep and complex as anyone. Then again, the Prince was still unable to accept such things in himself, so it was hardly a surprise. This was turning out to be even more fun than he had anticipated.

"Really," his teased, wanting to see just how far he could take this before the Prince broke, "Even if –

He never got to finish the question. Lost in his enjoyment of their little game he had forgotten that she still had one free hand and before he could stop her she slammed her hand into the pommel. The blade sank effortlessly into her neck, just beneath her chin and blood blossomed forth, drenching his hand in, what was to him, a shockingly cold deluge.

The Prince's cry of anguish, somewhere between a gasp and a sob echoed through his head as he experienced Farah's answer to how much she hated him at the moment. The blood, the look as the rage and light faded from her eyes, the proof of her desperation should have ruined the moment rather than excite him the way it did. Just as her hand started to slide away from his he rewound time yet again, watching as the blood returned and the hatred flared back into her eyes more intensely than ever. She was beautiful and perfect in all the ways the Prince would never dare admit and in this moment he understood her utterly.

As time returned to normal he pulled his hand away, but she never even twitched. This time she must have experienced what had happened and not bothered trying. He sheathed the Dagger and took her free hand, adjusting his grip so that he could hold both her hands in his left to better prevent further accidents.

Though she had not tried anything, she had not yet given up either. The hatred in her eyes, the resentment of having every means of escape stolen from her lit up her whole face.

"Your bravery is admirable, as is your determination," he ran his free hand along the side of her face watching the way her muscles twitched under the touch as though her very nerves rebelled at the contact, "Though your stubbornness is somewhat less endearing."

The key being that it was by the slightest of margins. He had no desire to break her after all, for then she would be utterly ruined, something he had no desire to do to her.

There was no pretending that it was passion that made her breath hitch as he traced a finger down her neck, across her collar bone and over the smooth swell of her breasts, but what fun would there be in trying to fool himself?

"I'm not going to kill you, you know," he said warmly, not so much to reassure her as to make his intentions clear. Perhaps she would learn, as he had and the Prince had forgotten, that hatred and love were twins, monstrously connected so that it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. The two of them had learned that in Azad and he had gotten to experience it all over again in all its glorious depth with Kaileena.

She kept her eyes closed in an attempt to hide her thoughts from him, but there was no concealing her disgust. Then again, with the way she was squirming and gasping beneath him, if he were to close his eyes it would be easy to pretend that she was eager for him to begin. Of course he would never close his eyes at a time like this, not when he wanted to savor every moment and Farah had proven to be infinitely resourceful.

He unfastened his belt and set it, along with the Dagger, off to the side, careful to place it so that it was out of her reach. That little movement was enough for her to squirm free and he leaned back to ride out her struggles, wondering if she knew how sensual the way she bucked her hips in her attempts to throw him off was. Just to see he thrust back against her, laughing at the way she pounded and clawed at his chest, just like Kaileena had done during the times that she demanded he take her. Even the Prince had to recognize that.

Her skirt, already damaged from her struggles, tore away as he grabbed for her, leaving him with a handful of cloth as she struggled away. Tossing the tatters away, he grabbed for her and pulled her back, his heart pounding as she screamed.

Once she was secure beneath him, he pinned her arms to the floor and leaned in close, willing her to look at him so that he might see the hatred in them and search for what lay beneath. Instead she bared her teeth in a grimace that could have just as easily been pleasure as it was hatred.

"I'm going to enjoy this," he whispered in her ear, an invitation for her to do the same if she so wished.

She let out a ragged cry that rose and fell with his every move as though he had already begun. He kissed her tenderly on the neck, savoring the way her cries turned to gasps each time his lips brushed against her.

"This is what I've longed for. I fought my way through the city for this moment," he panted between kisses, hoping that she might understand, "When I kill the vizier it will be for you as much as for myself. I'd slay armies for you, go to war for you, raze nations to have you as mine."

He slid his hands down to her thighs, rubbing his thumbs on the inside of her legs, waiting for her to give him the moment he was waiting for. All the playing before hand would simply make the final moment that much better.

During this time she managed to get one leg out from under him and kick him several times. The position was bad for her to deliver any force, but it gave him a very good glimpse of what he wanted. It was quite the show that she was putting on for him, or it was until she landed a blow on his left arm just above where the highest link of the bladed chain was embedded.

He shifted out of the way, ducking under her kicks and slamming his fist against the floor hard enough to split his knuckles in the process.

"I'm trying not to hurt you," he gasped, shaking his hand as though to shake off the already fading pain. The one good thing about the way he was now was that he was as durable as any Sand monster. Injuries that were not immediately fatal quickly healed on their own.

Farah stared up at him, suddenly still as though ready for what was to come.

Taking advantage of the moment she was so kindly providing him, he plunged in and moaned as she screamed. If not for the way she writhed and bucked beneath him continuing might have been impossible. It was as though he had plunged himself into freezing water, numbing him so that he was barely able to feel anything of her. Gritting his teeth in frustration he thrust, wishing that he could have been human for this moment. Still, the sensation of her beneath him was as pleasing as he could have hoped, and there were some things that his present form was incapable of ruining.

Focused more on memory and the way things should have been he slid his hands up under her top to massage her breasts. This much was as he had longed for, as it had been between the two of them in the mysterious well beneath the palace in Azad. He spoke the same words to her now as he had then, or at least as best as he could recall. Memory had likely refined them into something much finer than anything he may have said back then. Reliving that memory, making it his, he had his way with her.

Each move she made, he matched, holding her close as she pushed against him and keeping rhythm as best as he was able to with her erratic thrashings.

She must have been listening to his words for she spoke, her words falling into the pattern of his efforts, "Stop, you don't have to – "

Her words cut off in a gasp and he cut in, "You're wrong. This may be my only chance. I've lost you twice before. One thing I've learned from all I've endured, you must take what you want when there's a chance. Yesterday is dead and tomorrow is a lie."

That was why this moment together was so important. If he had waited for the Prince to see things his way, so that they could have done this without taking matters into his own hands, they may have lost her again before getting the chance. It was that desperation that drove him onward without making any attempt to slow the inevitable moment. Dragging it on was pointless when some things were all the more beautiful for their ephemeral nature.

Already exhausted, Farah fell still beneath him and he tried to urge her on for just a little while longer.

"Come on," he panted knowing that it would not be much longer, "I know you've got more in you than that."

He could feel the moment drawing near and he let the tension build, riding out the spasms of pleasure that wracked his body until he was spent.

Wanting nothing more than to collapse to the floor next to her, he withdrew and rose unsteadily to his knees. The memory of what had happened last time he had fallen asleep next to her preventing him from doing anything so foolish. Odds were that she would not merely steal the Dagger while he slept, especially since she had stated her intent to kill him in his sleep.

Gathering his clothing he got dressed, smiling when he noticed the way she was staring at him, her eyes shining bright with anger despite how tired and disheveled she clearly was. Eventually she closed her eyes, though he could tell by the way she was breathing that she had not yet fallen asleep.

Not wanting to leave without saying anything, and maybe, just maybe to prove his point to the Prince, he went back to her and knelt down by her side. Exhaustion had left her weak and shaking and he smiled as he gently brushed her sweat damp hair back from her forehead so that he could plant a final kiss there.

"It's said that we always hurt the ones we love," he spoke tenderly, wanting to be certain that she knew how he felt, "And you should know, I do love you."

Then he left, overall pleased with what he had accomplished.

As he walked out into the night the Prince was just beginning to recover from the shock of what had happened.

"You had no right – "

"Maybe I didn't," he said with a tired laugh, "But who's to say that. Anyway, it's all yours now, the world, this body, the memory of what we did tonight, it's all yours to keep and cherish. I hope it was worth it."

Thoroughly exhausted, he relinquished control of their body and retreated back to the dark corners of the Prince's mind to rest.

"What am I supposed to do now?" The Prince demanded an answer and received none.

There would be a time for conversation between them again, but this was not it. Right now all it wanted to do was rest and enjoy the victory it had managed that night.

_I come to you in a blue, blue room  
By some abuse and some heart  
You raise the blinds say  
Let's have light on life  
Let's watch it fall apart  
Let's watch it fall apart_

-Lyrics from 'Tenderloin' by Allen Lanier


End file.
